12:00 p.m. - 12/24/02
*:.since I've no place to go.:*
Another day, another migraine. They've been much occuring far too often lately- three in the past two weeks? I started having them this time last year, (never did before that) - and I have to say I'm not so fond of this little holiday tradition. Other traditions include being almost finished with a scarf (from my Tracy-yarn.) The only other item I have *ever* finished is one I worked on over the break last year. Bizarre? I think so. It's starting to look really beautiful, even though the colors are so different than what I would normally pick. I have no idea what I'll do with it, but at least I've finally figured out how to turn. And it's been a lovely way to stay connected to her, as have the new pup (and the old pup also.) The new pup is sitting in the manger, keeping it warm for Jesus, who never shows up until Christmas morning. (Occasionally, my dad- ehem, Santa- forgets to put him in, and we wake up to no one in the manger. I think the pup will be less of a blow, though he might have to come out and play for awhile.) Other Christmas pastimes include the arranging of a scene between the Abominable Snowman and the Misfit Doll (Rudolph figures), a continuing saga this year. Other than that, life has been uneventful. All family other than Joe has arrived; we brought my grandma here last night. We also went to visit my great-aunt, who's been rather influential in my life, and who doesn't seem to be feeling very well. I'm a little worried about it, but then, I've been a little worried in general lately. Thinking every time anyone gets in the car there will be an accident. Thinking every time the phone rings, I don't want it answered. Hopefully it will be better now that it isn't yesterday. I found out what happened on the twenty-third, and when nothing awful happened this year, I felt a little calmer. Though hearing that Joe Strummer died (when I was being a silly 90s child, and didn't realize who he was) freaked me out a bit. Now that it isn't upsetting knowing who he is, but not in a way *so* close to home.
I'm currently rooting through e-cards, trying to find ones for Chas and Mandy, as I intended to send letters to everyone when I finished the ones I was writing to Rogers people (which I haven't worked on in about a week.) I don't have much to say, but I haven't been writing at all, and that always makes me crazy. Well, I suppose I should say I haven't been writing here. I did post at chinalies the other day, but no one can care about that, as it's passworded. I hadn't posted there in over a year, but it felt good to just write a vent no one would read. I prefer to write vents that I can post (even when I don't want people to read them) as it feels cathartic. I let it out, and in certain cases, I don't have to be concerned with what people will think when they read it. Mostly, I just let this be my journal, though. I do think I need to keep moving entries to Atomgirl, though. Maybe I'll make that the archive. I'll have all my atomgirl/asterism/chordchild entries there, only missing what I wrote at iceflake and china, which makes sense to me, as those are somewhat separate worlds. Oh, and just to continue on this random train of thought, I realized yesterday that the play we're currently producing is a saga of iceflake, atoms, and chinalies. I was reading an entry from the earlier china days that talks about the different character of each of those three selves, and I realized they're the same three selves conflicting with (and caring for) each other in the new play. Very odd and kind of wonderful. Too bad no one will know the three journals when they come to see the play. I'm trying to remember if I ever let anyone other than Billy read china; I can't remember doing so. Odd, since the later entries are about what happened with Billy. Odd, in general, that I felt so compelled to hide her. But anyway...
I had a dream about Jenna last night. I was thinking when I woke up that it's the first time I've ever dreamed about her, but I think I might have had one other- which I can no longer remember. I came up with it this morning, but it's gone now. Migraine-induced amnesia, I suppose. My head hurts too much to page through its archives. Actually, a strict regimen of saltines and coca-cola is helping a bit. Though I thoroughly braced myself to eat pancakes this morning, with syrup- considerably dangerous as sugar is the devil when it comes to these migraines. I couldn't not eat them, though. My mom's pancakes are yummy, and I couldn't settle for my normal cup-of-oatmeal followed by a steady regimen of complex carbs. Anyway, I think I had another dream about Jenna at one point. Other than the ones I have while awake. It was pretty wonderful, despite the fact that it's probably *only* wonderful in my dreams. Despite the fact that if there is any future in that relationship, it probably will never be so simple as it was last night. But in some odd way, it was beautiful. I normally have bad dreams when I coma-sleep that way, and there were certainly bad aspects to this one (like at the end, when I was trying to come up with a plan so that the whole lot of people in the dream wouldn't be killed by the villains)- but just Jenna...aiy...I had gotten in trouble, I think for wearing a funky outfit, and I was walking to some principal-figure's office, from one set of bleachers into another. And there at the top of the bleachers was Jenna, surrounded by friends (all girls.) And she was with this other girl, and they were very simply together, doing very small things like holding hands. Sweet and hardly ostentacious. And then another girl seemed kind of interested in me, and I was talking about getting in trouble, and how I wouldn't have, had I been over here, because obviously I fit in much better. I think it had something to do with their class being a different set of bleachers from mine. Jenna was a class ahead of me, and when I *was* in school, I was an honorary member of '02. I fit much better there than I did in my year.
Anyway, I saw Jenna when I was walking up, and I was a little thrilled and a little nervous, not knowing how she would respond to me. But then she was all gentle and kind and happy to see me. The other girls disappeared and we spent the rest of the dream together, at times talking about our experience with eds/ at Rogers, and at times just being together. I woke up thinking about how Hampshire is ten minutes from Smith, and how wonderful it would all be if there were any chance. A snowball's chance, I suppose, and it is snowing like crazy outside.
I just miss her, and even though I know it's basically impossible, I liked the dreamy possibility. Even if I did end up with a day of headache and queasiness for the pleasure. God...I'm so ready to talk about this whole thing with Dr. R- or at the very least I wish I were. I wish I were ready. I just hate the idea of it being a joke, even though it so won't be with him. There's so much at stake. I hate the idea of proving them all right if I'm gay, or being terrified if I'm straight. And I've realized recently that talking about sex there kind of feels like having sex there. Equally awful, equally wrong. Equally terrifying. More fun with my cursed imagination. Being told a story is very similar to experiencing it. Telling a story is very similar to experiencing it. I don't know how well I can go there with him (though probably better than I can go there in general.) And I do think if we start little by little examining the reasons I can't talk, we'll find our way into the subject. But there's so *much* in that subject. There's love and crushes and fear and identity and sex and sexuality and trauma and on and on and on. And some of it is so sweet and fun and silly and some of it absolutely sucks. But I don't know how to go into, "yeah, I totally fall in love with every remotely cool 20-something girl I meet" without saying "and I hide in a closet every time I boy talks to me." A stretch perhaps, but nonetheless relevant. And how do we deal with the fact that *he's* a boy without continuing to stare at the carpet and forget he's real? I stare at the carpet to keep the sessions from seeming too intense. I can take in his responses without fully understanding that he isn't just a figment of my imagination (those times.) I really do want him to know, though. Who else am I going to talk to about it? Well, who else am I going to talk to about it off-line?
And what happens when your love for girls has been a joke your whole life and you start to consider the possibility that it isn't so much funny as absolutely fabulous? What happens when you replace, "Shut up" with "Exactly"...? I so need a support group for traumatized polyffectionates. If only I wouldn't have to hold the meetings in D!@#$%^.
I think maybe I need to start writing about this a little more, but I'm not sure I can do it here. It makes me nervous as trying to say "Mary Brave" in conversation. Though I do practice introducing myself that way. (Smile. Nod. Oh, Mary- Brave...of course, then I break down in giggles and grin all day. But nothing wrong with that.)
Yesterday had some interesting insights as well, which I probably shouldn't take the time to recall here, but what the hell, there's little else to do. My grandma called a little before noon to say that twelve feet of snow were going to fall out of the sky (all at once and any minute) and my dad had better pick her up now. When we finally left, many hours later, she was already sitting at the window waiting for us, shaking and nervous that we wouldn't get back before the storm. When we came through the door, though, she was chipper in a way I'd never seen. She sang Feliz Navidad (my favorite Christmas song as a child- because they put the emphasis on *Merry* instead of Christmas) and bounced around a bit, which was rather fabulous. Then, as we prepared to leave, she kept checking lights and making sure everything was turned off- she even checked again after we saw my great aunt, saying something about, "well, it looks dark; I guess everything is turned off" and something else about how she's been so worried about the roads, she's been shaking inside (since before the storm was predicted.) As much as my parents were frustrated with her anxiety, I felt for her. I felt sad for her, and I felt bad for feeling sad. I mean, what right do I have to pity her- when she's been strong enough to *live* this way so long? I guess I just started to feel grateful for the time I live in, the fucked-up crazy time, where I can take my Effexor every morning, and my propranol/alprazolam toe ase stress, and not have to live that way. I started to think about how she grew up, and I wondered if there were other generational influences on her OCD. It's just a theory- I've never really researched OCD- but it seems to me that being a socially intelligent (alert, aware) being in a generation where you have no control over your own life (all decisions go to men, women are stupid; you go from being the underling of your parents to the underling of your husband) could lead to major obsessiveness. If you can see all the possibilities, all the situations that could arise, and you have *no* awareness of your own power in the situation (in large part because you've never been able to tap into it) why wouldn't you develop a dangerously external locus of control? Why wouldn't you manage with obsessive control instead of actual (internal) power? I don't know if it makes any sense, but I still think it's sad. Even though I'm not able to have the same kind of compassion for my parents, since I live with them- and because of that understand that they struggle to have the same compassion for her. Even though I feel guilty for "pitying" her. I still think it sucks to be ruled by your anxiety, though I have to admit she manages it damn well. I wish she hadn't also grown up with the stigma because I really would like to talk to her about it. What was it like to survive a nervous breakdown and manage ECT? How have you gained your life back, despite the anxiety, despite Grandpa's death? (He'd be 77 the day after tomorrow, she says.) How have you managed, living through the time you did and having about as much ability to escape it as I do to escape D!@#$%^, to create a life you're happy living? I mean, thinking about it, she's pretty amazing. I guess now that I'm someone other than The Writer (which confuses her, even though she's proud of what I've achieved in it) it's easier to see her as someone other than The Woman Who Doesn't Read. Now that I'm someone other than The Girl Who Doesn't Date, it's easier to see beyond her need for me to do so. I'm starting to feel sad that she might not manage my possible-queerness so well. I'm starting to feel sad that if I do ever develop a relationship, with someone of whatever gender, she won't understand. (She said to Sarah, awhile ago, "are you all dressed up for Steve?" a statment that makes all of us want to jump into the snow and freeze there. And on the way home last night she started talking about how scared she was of the "black boy" who was knockig at the apartment next to her.) There's so little about us that's common, but I guess the link of family, and the link of craziness-survived mean more than I sometimes realize. It's too bad we can't bond over that; it really is. Anyway. I guess I should go spend some time with her, and the rest of them. The snow is thick enough that Dad can't go to work, which rocks. Now we only need to save Steve from his crazy family and bring Joe home for the holiday, and my nuclear clan should be ok. I do hope Effie (my (actually great) great-aunt) is having an ok holiday. I want her to be peaceful, happy even...and I need her around for a little while yet. Merry Christmas, Effie.
And happy eve of Santa's birthday to the rest of the world. Love from the snow-blanketed boonies. (Why exactly are people happy to be stranded here??)
love
chord
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